


Every road leads to Rome

by buckymyhero



Series: Hawkeye Origins [1]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: BAMF!Clint, Gen, Origin Story, Sitwell will always be a good guy to me, adding tags as the story progresses, bc all of u write him as stupid, hope i wrote that right, proofreading? don't know her, we post our first drafts because we die like men, we will survive the winter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-25 09:56:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7528198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckymyhero/pseuds/buckymyhero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a story about Clint Barton's (aka Hawkeye's) life as an assassin before he was recruited to SHIELD.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. This is the start, boy

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Marvel fic! Many of the characters might seem ooc from the movies/tv shows/comics, and that's because everyone has their own interpretation of the characters and this is mine. You could call this an AU, since I've changed the characters backstories a bit, also their ages bc why not. 
> 
> English isn't my first language, so there might be (there definitely is) some words that I use a lot, so the story might seem a bit stiff and I apologize for that! I'm trying to improve all the time. Also, there might be mistakes with the present tense and past tense, so please forgive me for those too. Just point them out if you find them so I can fix them. And commas! I still don't understand when I'm supposed to put commas when I'm writing in English. :P
> 
> This is un-beta'd (is that how u write it), since i have no one who wants to read my horrible writing :Dd 
> 
> ALSO: THE TECHNOLOGY IN THIS IS VERY ADVANTAGED EVEN THO IT'S THE 90's

**1995, AUGUST 19TH**

**NEW JERSEY, USA**

**23:17**

 

It's a dark night in New Jersey, the skies are full of dark grey clouds and the only source of light in the streets are couple shop signs and street lights. Well, a few streetlights, many of them are broken and the city doesn't seem to care, which isn't a surprise when it comes down to this neighborhood. It's couple blocks away from the central and one can hear the police sirens and car sounds from there. The streets are empty, only a few cars on the side of the road. Everyone is in their homes or, if they have a night shift, working in the central. So, the streets are empty, but the roof? Not so much. 

A slim figure jumps quietly from roof to roof. They seem to be wearing all black, a hood over their head so no one can see their face and they have a gun strapped onto their back.

 

*

 

Clint crouches on the edge of the roof, the high border giving him a perfect hiding spot so no one can see him from the street or through the windows. He scans the streets, making sure no one is there. Clint already knows he’s alone and there is no way he wouldn’t have noticed someone following him, but he likes to be 100% sure. After that, he gives his attention to the building that's 200 meters away from him. 

 _4th floor, third window from the left,_ Clint reminds himself as he takes the sniper rifle from his back and carefully places the barrel on the edge, getting into position. He has a job to do.

And that's how he stays for a while, waiting for the clock to hit 23:38. Then he sees his target, a white man, around his 50s with a big beer belly and receding hairline. The man sits on the couch in the living room and turns the TV on. Clint has a clear shot on him. But Clint watches the man for a while, not wanting to take the shot yet.

The man seems perfectly normal and acts like it. He might even think that's everything is fine, but that means that he's an idiot. Only idiots would think they're fine after they've crossed von Bragg, the feared mob leader in the state of New Jersey.  

Corner of Clint's mouth turn up as the thinks _What a fool indeed._

Clint's okay with fools, he gets (a lot of) money because the fools do stupid shit (like breaking a deal with a powerful mob leader, taking most of his money and taking advantage of the mob leader's underage daughter), and someone (for example: the said mob leader) wants them dead.

Clint is fine with killing people. He's one of-, excuse me, _is_ the best at the job, he the world’s best markman! Even the most toughest and the most feared men and women get scared when they hear his name. His code name that is, he’s made sure no one knows his real name.

Clint checks to see if the silencer is on, not wanting to wake anyone up here. Not that it would matter, gun fire is a normal sound in this neighbourhood.

 

Then he aims. 

And he shoots.

 

*

 

Clint drops down from the fire escape and starts to walk towards his hotel. His rifle is in his backpack in pieces, he changed to his regular clothes and eats a Snickers bar. Anyone who sees him will think that he's some kid who had a midnight craving.

In the morning he's eating breakfast in the dining hall reading about what's happening in the world. There's a TV on his right and one of the people there asks the staff to turn to volume up, wanting to hear the news.

”-- Leincoln, corporate leader of one of New Jersey's biggest company, has been found dead in his apartment in the early morning. The police hasn't shared anything yet, but our sources say that he's been shot in the head. Who would've done this--” says the reporter outside of a big building. Behind her are many police officers, trying to control people who want to know what happened.

 Clint hums and drinks his coffee, it's a normal morning for him.

 

*

 

When Clint leaves the hotel, his duffel bag on his left shoulder, he picks up the briefcase that was left in front of his hotel door while he was eating breakfast.

 Clint ponders what he should do with the 1.7 million dollars, he has enough money already safe in his bank accounts all over the world. He might donate some of it for some organisations (possibly one that's involved saving the animals or the planet. What? Just because he's a killer doesn't mean he doesn't care about stuff), or he might buy himself something nice, Christmas is coming and he's turning 17 years old next year.

 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - -

 

**1995, AUGUST 20TH**

**CLASSIFIED LOCATION, S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ**

**13:04**

 

”He has attacked again”, is the first thing agent Jasper Sitwell says when he opens the door to his friend's, agent Phil Coulson's, office.

 Coulson looks up from whatever paper he was writing and puts it aside.

 ”You sure? Does Fury know?” Coulson asks his eyebrows raised, already knowing the answer.

 ”Yeah, when I found out I went straight to him. He told me to update you on this”, Sitwell sighs and waves a file on his hand as he sits on one of the chairs in front of Coulson's desk.

He gives the file to Coulson and starts explaining what had happened and why they know it is the same as the others, while Coulson is skimming through the file.

 ”Just like the others, Phil. A wealthy businessman shot in the middle of his forehead and the word is that he crossed some mob leader and they wanted him dead. The investigators say that it was a long range shot, somewhere about one hundred to two and a half hundred meters away. It's our guy.”

Coulson puts the file down, on the page there is pictures of Harry Leincoln, owner of Leincoln Co., dead. He sighs and leans back on his seat, stares at the roof.

”That's his 19th kill. Or what we know of, at least”, Coulson says and looks back at Sitwell, who nods his head a little, sighing.

”How are we supposed to find this guy?” Coulson asks, waving his arms in the air. Sitwell just shrugs and takes the file on Coulson's desk as he rises from his seat.

”Fury said that if we get no leads on the next nine months, he calls a meeting. That includes you and me”, Sitwell tells Coulson as he leaves his office.

 

Coulson takes a deep breath and goes over in his head on what they already got on this guy (or a girl, they’re not sure). They don't have much, but more than any other agency organisation they know, e.g. FBI, CIA, MI, KGB [they're not sure how much KGB knows, but they're sure the assassin doesn't work for them because they have killed couple of KGB's agents].

Coulson knows the sniper-assassin has a good aim, who is he kidding, they have a _perfect_ aim. He wonders if there's a chance they might be able to get them to work for SHIELD. No, he isn't crazy, they need someone who has aim like that, even Fury had said that one evening to him. The assassin never leaves any trace behind them and disappears as soon as they takes the shot, which is also very impressive if you ask Coulson. They don't know what the assassin looks like, they haven't gotten a single picture of them, not even a glimpse. They know that the assassin had made at least 19 kills, always someone powerful or someone who worked for powerful people.

And lastly, they don't know how people contact the assassin, which sucks balls, as Sitwell once described it.

Coulson shakes his head and looks outside of his window, how the hell are they supposed to catch this person? 

 

How are they supposed to catch the Hawkeye?


	2. I feel like me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's go to Japan  
> I'm not joking this time  
> So go get your bags packed  
> We'll be just fine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol hello bet u thought i was dead but school has started and i’ve been procrastinating a lot. also my depression hasn't been kind to me in these last couple of months :/
> 
> also i know nothing about japan or business stuff so please forgive me

**1996, APRIL 6TH**

**TOKYO, JAPAN**

**05:00**

  


The room is dim, curtains closed so no one can see inside the room. The bed sheets are white, the bedspread is dull beige and they are neatly made so it looks like no one has slept in the bed. Only few people are awake at the hotel, and one of them is on their laptop in their room.

 

Clint sits quietly with his back against the headboard as he's sitting on the bed. In his life there have been very few times when Clint has felt uneasy, anxious even, and this was one of them. He's on his laptop reading reports that have SHIELD logo on them.

 

Clint isn't ignorant, hasn’t been since he was 12, he knows there are dozen agencies and organisations after him, and every time he finds out that someone new is after him, he wants to know everything about them. Sometimes he breaks into their HQ and read the files they have on him there, but most of the time he hacks them and steals the files.

 

And that's what the does with S.H.I.E.L.D. (and really, the name? It's a mouthful: Strategic homeland in-.. vestigation? Who the fuck cares.). Clint has to say, hacking SHIELD is harder than hacking Pentagon. It takes him almost two hours to make sure he doesn't set on any alarms! When he downloads the files, makes sure no one knows about his visit, he dives right into them.

 

What he already knows about the agency is that it's very covert, some even think they're not real, that they're just a lie America's government spread around to scare people. But Clint knows better.

 

He knows he could easily keep the other organisations off his ass, but keeping SHIELD away? That's going to be hard, even for him. He works alone, he doesn't have anyone backing him up if something goes to shit. He isn't exactly _worried_ about SHIELD, but he knows he needs to watch his back with them. Clint knows what SHIELD will do to him if they catch him.

 

Clint glances at the clock, seeing it's 7am, he closes his laptop, puts it on the desk next to him and lays on his back. He stares at the ceiling, thinking nothing in particular. _(That’s a lie. He’s thinking the same things he thinks almost every month. The what ifs? What if he hadn’t followed Barney to the circus, and stayed at the orphanage and at school and gone to college? Or, what if he would’ve stayed at the circus? Or, what if his parents hasn’t died at the car crash? What if-)_ Clint shakes his head. He has to stop thinking about these things, he’s an assassin! It’s too late to back down, he had the chance to say no to this life years ago, and he refused. He sighs and turns on his side, hoping to get couple hours of sleep before he has to leave.

 

It is what it is.

  


\- - - - - - - - -

  


**1996, APRIL 6TH**

**TOKYO, JAPAN**

**14:23**

  


The park is big, looks even bigger when there's only a few people there. There's a big fountain in the middle of it, and it's surrounded with benches. The kids are at school and adults are working, so there aren’t that many people in the park or around it. But there still are few people there.

 

Couple tourists eating at a small cafe (that was recommended by the locals), few clients in the little shops that were on the other side of the road next to the park, a woman sitting by the fountain with her child in the rollers and a man in a suit sitting on one of the benches.

 

It was clear that most of the people there weren't japanese, but is you'd ask someone who lives in there (or anyone else, really), they would say that they're tourists, and traveling businessmen. The park is well known as the place where many businessmen make deals together or meet new clients.

 

And if you'd ask them what they thought about the man in the suit sitting on the park bench with a suitcase, reading a newspaper, they'd say he's one of the traveling businessman that every so often visits Tokyo.

 

And that's what mr. Ahaira thinks when he sees the man in the suit. They look like a businessman: around 30, but no older, white skin (possibly american), the black suit looks impeccable and his light hair is neatly combed back. His blue eyes are focusing on the newspaper in front of him, as if every word he reads is the most important thing in his life.

 

He doesn’t look threatening, so mr. Ahaira decides to sit beside him.

 

-

 

Coulson sits on the park bench, waiting. He quietly whispers into his comm: ”Everybody in position?” Everyone in his team says yes.

 

Fury has sent him to take Daichi Ahaira into custody before anyone else can get their hands on him. Ahaira is a big threat to the world, and it is their job to make sure they stop him before he can do any harm.

 

”Target is in motion. I repeat target is in motion. It looks like he's heading towards you boss”, agent Bryson says from his position in the café. Agent Moore sits by the fountain, pretending to be a mother with her child (that’s actually a Beretta 92).

 

”Lovely day isn't it?” Ahaira says in English with a heavy accent to Coulson when he sits down next to him on the bench. Coulson smiles at him ”It truly is”, and folds his newspaper to put it away. Just then Ahaira notices the folder next to Coulson. It reas ”PROJECT 00746” in red. Ahaira offers his hand to Coulson and introduces himself, ”Daichi Ahaira”. 

 

”Phil Coulson”, the agent says back while shaking his hand. Coulson knows that Ahaira had taken the bait because he noticed that the man had glanced at the folder next to him. ”Work trip?” Ahaira asks Coulson and nods his head towards the folder. Coulson just smiles his usual friendly smile, and nods. ”Yes, we're hoping to make couple deals here.”

 

Ahaira nods while listening to Coulson, clearly interested. ”What company?” he asks, clearly interested. ”SHIELD”, Coulson drops the name, his voice calm. Oh, he secretly -well not so secretly, Sitwell, Fury and Hill know and they love it too- love the power that word holds.

 

Ahaira turns his head quickly back to Coulson, previously looking at couple of birds who played in the fountain. Ahaira’s eyes widen, mouth goes in a straight line. He of course has heard of SHIELD, but thought they're just a made up story that the American government made to keep everyone on their toes. Everyone thinks they are a ghost story.

 

”What?” was all he can say as he swallows. Ahaira doesn’t want to admit that he’s scared, but he is. Especially since he knows why SHIELD is here for him. _I knew getting into biochemical weapon business was a mistake_ , he thinks to himself.

 

Coulson's face gives nothing away, but if you are careful you can hear the smugness in his tone as he speaks. ”Mr. Ahaira, before you even think about running away, know that I have agents surrounding this place and they will take you down if they have to. Unless you cooperate with us, we all can walk away without getting hurt”, Coulson tells the man who looks around him when Coulson mentions other agents. When Ahaira makes no indicate that he’s going to run away Coulson continues, ”You've been on SHIELD's radar ever since you started your work with the biochemical weapons wi-” is all he can say, before he hears a sharp _woosh_ sound and feels something warm on his face.

 

”Target's been hit! I repeat, target's been hit! Coulson get down!” agent Corson yells as he runs towards Coulson, who is blinking and staring at, now dead, Daichi Ahaira. ”I think we're good”, agent Moore says when all of the agents gather around Coulson. They all look at mr. Ahaira and notice the bullet wound. Right in the middle of his forehead. Agents Bryson and Corson exchange looks, _He’s here_.

 

”It's him, isn't it? The Hawkeye?” agent Bryson asks, not knowing how he should react: be in awe or fear. He has heard the stories other agents and agencies tell about ‘the silent assassin’.

 

”Yeah”, is all Coulson can answer. He knows it’s useless to search the perimeter, the assassin has already disappeared from his spot. Agent Moore brings Coulson back from his thoughts by touching his shoulder, “You alright boss?”

 

Coulson nods to her and looks towards the trees and buildings that are opposite towards the bench where he and Ahaira had sat. Agent Corson follows his sight and gets what Coulson is thinking. ”The shot must've come from there. It's over 300 meters”, he states. Corson knows he shouldn’t be in awe of the assassin’s skills, he’s the bad guy! But still, it’s over 300 meters and a perfect shot.

 

”Do we need to check the buildings out? That's going to take a lot of time and I have a feeling he's already gone”, agent Moore asks, hoping they can go home as fast as they can because she has a date with the cute doctor. They met when she was brought in to the hospital after a big explosion. ”No, let's just call for backup to get rid of Ahaira’s body, and then sent forensics to sweep those buildings. Even though it's a lost cause”, Coulson orders them and takes out his phone. He steps away from the scene as he dials his good friend who must be just waking up.

 

”Jas? The Hawkeye has striked again, Daichi Ahaira is dead”, Coulson says right away, before Sitwell can even say hello. There’s a moment of silence, before: ”You can't be serious”, Sitwell sighs. It’s way too early for him.

 

-

 

Clint stares at the team that’s 40 meters away from him. When he took the job and read the guy’s files, he knew right away that SHILED was after him too. Like seriously, biochemical weapons that can turn people’s inside to a mush?

  


Clint almost wants to walk over there and tell the team not to worry about the weapons, his client is going to destroy them. That would be surprising to some people, but Clint knows that Ahaira had tested the weapons on Clint's client's people, and they had all died. (Which proves that the weapons work! Well, sort of work, it apparently took four hours the kill.)  Apparently his client doesn’t care about power, he cares about his people. Clint shakes his head a little at that, _so sentimental._

 

He watches the guy in the suit, Phil Coulson, if he remembers correctly. Clint squints his eyes at the man; he doesn’t look alarmed or confused, he actually looks bored. Like he wishes that this all would end soon. Clint smirk and turns away from the scene, his job is done and he’s now 1,5 million dollars richer.

 

It is what it is.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there's any grammatical errors, please tell me so I can fix them! 
> 
> And as always, feedback is appreciated!!
> 
> tbh i'm not sure when the next chapter is coming, i'm v tired and i have a lot of school work to do


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is going to be a short one and it's only about the meeting SHIELD agents have about Hawkeye, so no action here. Also im sick while im writing this so im not sure if all of this makes sense

**1996, MAY 12TH**

**CLASSIFIED LOCATION, SHIELD HQ**

**10:30**

  
  


“… And Leincoln, our guy from New Jersey, had apparently crossed this very powerful mafia boss. Broke whatever deal they had together and took all the money for himself”, Sitwell explains while skimming through the file and when he turns the page, he adds “And apparently took advantage of the boss' underage daughter, jeez.”

 

Sitwell turns his gaze towards Fury who's leaning against the shelf next to the coffee machine. The walls are boring white that match with the worn grey carpet. There are two big windows right next to each other, and you could see very far since they're in the 30 th floor.

 

Director Fury (or Nick to Sitwell and Coulson) had called a  meeting after the mess in Tokyo. They haven't had any good leads on Hawkeye for months and he's tired of it. That's why all three of them are going through every file they have on the assassin, hoping to find something, something that will get them closer to catching the guy.

 

“27 dead and all have one gun shot right in the middle of their forehead”, Coulson says and waves his hand over the files on the table. He's not going to say out loud that Hawkeye's work is impressive because 1) Hawkeye's the bad guy 2) everyone in the room knows that.

 

“So, what do we make of all this?” Fury asks and puts the Tokyo file down on the table.

“He's a sniper so he works alone and avoids human interaction, which means he doesn't meet with his clients face to face”, Sitwell starts. “So they must communicate with each other other ways using some secret code by notes, emails, letters..”

 

“He kills his targets when he wants; in the morning, night or sometimes even in the middle of the day. That means he has a carefully detailed plan, he knows what he's doing and that he will get away easily, disappearing right after he takes the shot”, Coulson goes over his notes. He continues, “Also he has a custom made sniper rifle and uses a silencer.”

 

Fury nods at this and comes into the conclusion that Hawkeye must be rich, because having a custom made sniper rifle? That costs a fortune.

 

“He's precise, in all of the 27 kills there's never been any casualties, which indicates that he only kills for money, not for revenge, for the thrill”, Sitwell adds.

“And none of this gets us really anywhere”, Fury sighs and drops files onto the table.

 

This is going to be a long day.

  
  


-

 

**1996, MAY 12TH**

**CLASSIFIED LOCATION, SHIELD HQ**

**17:12**

  
  


The conference room table is full of take out boxes, everyone has lost their jackets and loosened their ties. The sun still shines, making the sky look beautiful light orange and the city beautiful mix of orange and grey.

Coulson, Fury and Sitwell have been trying to find something that will get them closer to Hawkeye, but with no luck. Sitwell is sitting on the floor with files surrounding him, going through everyone who wanted Hawkeye's targets dead. Tracing their every step, trying to find how the contacted each other. He sighed and rubbed his temple, how can  _ one  _ man cause so much headache to them? They are  _ the SHIELD _ for God's sake!

 

Deciding that he needs to have his 9 th coffe cup of the day, he gets up and mumbles that he's going to get coffee. Coulson and Fury demand that he's going to bring coffee to them too. When no one stops him while he's walking down the hall to the common room, Sitwell feels little better. He really needed a small break from all the work.

While he lets the coffee brew, he leans against the counter and notices that couple of agents are watching some kind of history drama about the revolutionary war in the 1700's. Sitwell's not paying much attention to it, not until he hears the spy (Townsend? Sitwell remembers that name from the history books) asks for an advertisement place. The spy is making an advertisement for the bar he works for, but in reality it's a secret code for the other spies.

_ Of course. Of-fucking-course _ , Sitwell thinks when he gets the idea. He sprints back to the conference room, scaring the agents who didn't realize he was there.

 

“Weren't you supposed to bring us coffee?” Fury asks while flipping through files. Coulson just raises his eyebrows when Sitwell quickly skims through the newspapers that they have on the table for this case: trying to find obituaries that might have something to do with Hawkeye.

“I think I know how Hawkeye communicates with his clients”, Sitwell says as he searches through two newspapers: one is Jersey Journal and the other one is New York Times. That got Coulson's and Fury's attention.

 

“What do you have in mind?” Coulson asks his friend who's now reading advertisements on the New York Times.

“Carlos Román, the first client of Hawkeye. He was the first one to contact him”, Sitwell explains, trying to find that one advertisement. “How does that help us?” Fury asks, interested.

“Two weeks before Daniel Camp was murdered, there were reports of Román being around the postal office”, Sitwell continues explaining, and wonders why so many people want to advertise their works in the newspapers.

“Yeah, but we checked the footage, the mail and Románs people that worked there, and got nothing”, Coulson states, remembering watching over 10 hours of video.

 

“Yes, we checked all of the mail, trying to find something suspicious, but skimmed through the ordinary ones”

Fury now understands what Sitwell means. “Román could've easily sent a mail that seemed nothing out of the ordinary in secret, there were over 500 letters sent that day.”

Sitwell nods as he finds the two advertisements he's looking for from the two newspapers.

 

“Aha! Here, look: 'Old granny would like to make some little money so that she could buy her grandchildren presents. I can knit wool socks, beanies and mittens, just send me all the information that I need: what do you want me to make, how do you want me to make them and how fast! You can pay me after I've sent them to you, so you can be sure that I've done what you wanted! :) Have a lovely day.'”, Sitwell exclaims as he reads the advertisement. “That is the exact one that's in the other newspaper too!”

 

Coulson is a bit sceptical. “You think some old lady has something to do with this?” If his friend seriously thinks that some senior is helping a deadly assassin... Coulson's not sure what he should think of that.

“Yeah, look at the addresses! That address is only in Baltimore, the city names are just hoax”, Sitwell says and types the address that's in the ad's on the keyboard.

 

“See”, he says and points at the screen.

 

Fury comes to stand beside Sitwell, while Coulson on his other side: all three staring at the screen.

 

Finally they have something on Hawkeye.


	4. Water Ripples

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title from the song I listened while writing this.
> 
> also i dont know how to describe those roofs that are in america. like those ones that have those weird blocks on them and big air vent thingies.
> 
> another thing, i havent proof read this so i have no idea what's in this. i had written like 2/3 of this months ago and quickly added the last part so im not sure if anything makes sense

**1996, SEPTEMBER 2ND**

**PORTLAN, USA**

**17:31**

  
  


Coulson sits in a chair in the middle of the hotel room staring at the wall. It's full with reports of powerful and rich people crossing other powerful and rich people. Fury had sent Coulson and 10 other experienced field agents to Portland when they heard that the Secretary of State had cheated at a poker game against some irish mob leader, who now wanted the said secretary dead.

 

What about the clue on Hawkeye? Well..

 

-

 

They had found the address in Baltimore where Román had sent the letter, and quickly understood how Hawkeye's clients contacted him: people sent letters to that address (the letter including who they are, who they want to kill, how much they will pay and how quickly they want it to be done. They can also add why they want them dead apparently, why would an assassin want to know why?) and waited for Hawkeye's response. How Hawkeye responded, they don't know yet.

 

The address belongs to a 85-year-old woman whose hearing isn't good, so anyone can easily break into her apartment and look at the mail she has received. (They knocked on her door 7 times till she heard them.) And within 2 minutes into the questioning they realized the old woman didn't know anything. (She also offered them tea and cookies)

 

But they did find out, however, that Hawkeye always left her couple hundred dollars every time he came to pick up the mail, which the old lady though was her pension money.

 

Fury had ordered men to keep an eye out on the place, but somehow Hawkeye had slipped past them and taken the letters the agents hid in their apparently-not-so-secure van. Hawke even had hacked their cameras, so they wouldn't get any pictures of him.

 

-

 

But now, they finally (might) have a chance to catch a glimpse of the guy or even better, catch the guy. Because the Secretary of State is dining in a very small italian restaurant this evening

 

The secretary had declined SHIELD's protection, even after they told him that someone had sent an assassin to kill him. He had just laughed it off, saying he didn't need protection from an organisation he hadn't heard of.

 

”Yeah, because he's not important enough to know about us”, Sitwell muttered as he and Coulson walked away.

 

-

 

**1996, SEPTEMBER 2ND**

**PORTLAND, USA**

**17:57**

  
  


Clint hums as he opens the apartment door. He can't use roofs anymore because of SHIELD, so he has to settle for a small apartment. It's not a bad spot to kill the guy, Clint can make the kill shot almost anywhere, but getting away is harder when you're not up high anymore.

 

The apartment is ugly, like, Clint is the first person to admit that he doesn't understand all that house styling thing (although he has watched a lot of those house renovating TV shows when he's bored), but ugly yellow flower patterned walls with even uglier brown carpet? And the cheap furniture? A disgrace if you ask Clint. 

 

But the owner of the apartment is working till midnight and this apartment is right across the italian restaurant where his target is going to eat, so.

 

He opens the window just enough so he can get his rifle's end out.

 

_ Five...six...seven...ten? Ten agents for me? Aw, I'm flattered _ , Clint thinks as he counts all the agents.

 

”So: four agents of the roof, four in the restaurant and two in the streets. That means I can't use exits 3, 4, 7, 8 and 11”, he whispers to himself.

 

The suit guy (Phil Coulson, Clint reminds himself) is here too because apparently he's been assigned on case #451247 aka ”Hawkeye”. If he has the chance he's going to ask where those numbers come from, wouldn't it be more useful to just use some secret names?

 

SHIELD's been making his life very difficult after they found out how people contacted him, but Clint is not going to change his methods. Mostly because the old woman is very sweet. But it's fine because SHIELD challenges him, they make him better at what he's doing.

 

Clint's been thinking about sending them a Thank you -card for that, but in the end decided against that.

 

In the last few months, Clint has become more creative, faster, smarter and he has started to think even more outside the box. He was the best at his job before SHIELD and now he's even better, which is great.

 

Except that it's tiring as hell because he works alone. He's always alone.

 

It's not bothering him that much, being alone, he  _ is _ a sniper after all. He's been alone ever since he was 15 years old.

 

Clint shakes his head when the memories come back to him.

 

_ The blood. _

 

_ The shaky breaths. _

 

_ The knife. _

 

”Now is not the time”, Clint mumbles and closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

 

He has a secretary to kill.

  
  


*

 

The clock strikes 18:05 when secretary Ryden steps out of his car. The first thing he sees is the same man in the suit who had told him that he was in danger. Ignoring the man, Ryden heads inside, wanting to eat in peace at his favorite restaurant.

 

He knows he's in danger, he's been in danger ever since he became the secretary of state. It comes with the job. Besides, he has his big bodyguards with him. If someone wants to kill him, 

they have to go through them first.

 

*

 

_ The restaurant is nice, no wonder the minister likes it here _ , Sitwell thinks as he sips his coffee and listens to Coulson.

 

”Heat signals show 87 people in the building I'm in, 107 in the building left to me and 18 in the store on your right Jas. No suspicious movement yet”, Coulson informs.

 

”Everyone's in position boss”, agent King's voice comes through the comms.

 

They've been here since 6am, so there was no way Hawkeye wouldn't go unnoticed. Nothing suspicious has been happening (which itself was suspicious, Sitwell had remarked and Coulson agreed).

 

Now all they can do is wait till the assassin shows up.

 

-

 

Clint’s breathing is slow and steady, if you wouldn’t have sharp eyes you would think that he’s not breathing at all. He would seem like a statue considering that he’s been on the exact same position for well over 10 minutes.

 

“Okay, it’s showtime”, Clint murmurs to himself and decides it time to take the shot. 

 

He aims his gun to the perfect position and pulls the trigger.

 

On 2nd of September 1996 at 18:13:26, David Ryder, the Secretary of State has been shot in the head and is dead. 

 

Clint takes apart his gun in five seconds, knowing he can’t waste any time getting away. He throws the parts into his rucksack and puts his baseball cap back on. 

 

SHIELD probably already knows where the shot came from, so he needs to move quickly.

 

Clint exits the apartment and as he closes the door, he looks around him. Heading straight to the open apartment door that’s couple doors to his left, Clint thanks whoever decided to host the party. 

 

He had arrived at the apartment with many other teenagers, blending in their group’s back. They had talked about throwing -to quote- “bitchiest party ever”. 

 

Clint slips into the apartment very easily; there are way over 20 teenagers there and most of them are either drunk (which, really? It’s not even 7pm..) or too busy making out with each other to pay attention to him. 

 

_ Even if they would notice me, they would probably think I’m one of them _ , Clint thinks to himself as he approaches the window. 

 

Peeking out the window Clint smiles: the secret service and SHIELD are arguing with each other. But the smile fades quickly when he sees couple agents running towards the building he’s in. 

 

Clint began to thought about his chances: he could try to stay here, but then he would have to make his rucksack magically disappear, so he has to try to sneak away through the roof. 

 

Sighing at the poor choice of escape, he headed back to the door. He’s prepared for everything, even if he has to make couple non-target kills. Clint is not a fan of killing people who aren’t bad people (well… he does work for people who are bad people, but he kills worse people who are a threat..  (to the world) .. he tells himself). 

 

_ Agents are probably coming from both sides of the building and there are couple agents on the roof, so if everything goes well I only have to knock three people unconscious,  _ Clint goes over in his head. 

 

-

 

“Dammit! Phil, the shot came from your building!” Sitwell shouts into his comm while the secret service is gathering around the dead secretary. 

 

“How the hell did he get into this building unnoticed?” Coulson asks out loud, not expecting an answer. They kept an eye on every adult in that area!

 

“All agents come search the building, agents Moore, Warrick and Hunt stay on the roof” Coulson commands his agents as he runs out of the room.

 

They are  _ not  _ letting the assassin get away!

  
  
  


-

 

”Aw, shit”, Clint mutters under his breath as he steps into the small side staircase. 

 

He skips the stairs and is soon standing in the highest floor. Clint quickly takes out his knives that have been hiding under his sleeves, instead of a gun, not wanting to draw attention with a gunshot. 

 

“Was this really the best day to leave the silencer home?” Clint asks himself. He really can be stupid at times.

 

Looking around, he finally notices the big air vent that leads to the roof.  _ Perfect _ , he smiles and starts opening the cover. He also thanks whoever made the big air vents popular, they are sometimes very good hiding places. 

 

Clint crawls quickly till he’s at the end grid, able to see all three agents who have their backs at him. One of the was by the door, ready to attack anyone who came through it, while the other two were glancing down on the streets. 

 

Opening the grid, slowly and quietly, he finally drops down and finds cover. Thankfully it is one of those roofs that have all kinds of blocks there, perfect for hiding behind.

 

Clint sneaks behind one of the agents who is by the door, quickly checking that the other two are still looking down. 

 

Fortunately the sound of sirens and people talking/yelling covers the thump sound the agent makes when Clint knocks her unconscious. After he drags the agent’s body into hiding, he turns his attention to the other two. 

 

Twiddling with the two knives in his hands and feeling his time running out, Clint decides to say fuck it, and throws the knives at the agents. Which leads into one of them dying, like they should, and the other one falling off the roof.

 

Great.

  
  
  


-

 

“Agent Hunt is dead! He fell from the roof! Agents Moore and Warrick aren’t answering”, Sitwell yells and informs the others. He’s standing by agent Hunt, looking at his smashed head, but knowing it was the knife that killed him. “Hawkeye must be on the roof, Phil.”

 

All Coulson can answer is “Pursuing”, as he runs up the stairs. Other agents are searching the apartment Hawkeye must’ve used, so he’s all alone. And as he opens the roof door, the first thing he sees is agent Moore, lying on the ground. 

 

“Kate!” Coulson whispers and kneels down, checking her pulse. He sighs for relief when he feels the heartbeat. “Agent Moore is alive, but unconscious. I need backup on the roof”, he speaks on his comm. 

 

“Phil, do you see Hawkeye?” Sitwell’s voice comes through.

 

Coulson peeks up from his hiding place, and sees a figure jumping from this roof to another.

 

“Yeah, he just jumped to another roof. I’m going after him”, Coulson says and starts running. 

 

-

 

They jumped from roof to roof, the SHIELD agent trailing very closely behind the assassin, neither of them showing any sign of stopping.. Until, the agent had had enough and pulled out his gun and firing. 

 

-

 

Suddenly Clint feels a sharp pain on his thigh.

 

“Aw fuck, he shot me!”, he mutters and slows down at the edge of the roof. 

 

“Put your hands up where I can see them! You have nowhere to run!” Clint hears behind him, but he’s definitely not listening some government agent. 

 

There’s a fire escape right below him, so he can easily slide it down to the streets. And so he does. Which hurt a lot, considering he has a shot wound on his leg. And of course the agent follows him, apparently not ready to give up. Clint has to give it to the guy, he’s persistent. 

 

But Clint has a plan to escape, he just needs to..

 

“Stop.”

 

Shit.

 

Clint stops, trying to figure out what to do now. He could let the agent close to him and then take him down, they are far away enough from the original site so he could disappear before the other agents find them. 

 

_ Don’t screw this up, Clint. _

  
  


”Turn around.”

 

Clint sighs as he does. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yooo so i forgot this existed sorry i've had SO much on my plate recently


	5. the bandage on the floor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sweet innocent child with your open eyes.  
> You've seen us for who we really are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what is english? what is writing? what is life honestly 
> 
> but anyway this is a short one guys, nothing much happening. also this is one of those chapters where i'm just not sure about anything bc it's so peaceful and quiet and as i said before nothing happens really

**1996, SEPTEMBER 3RD**

**CLASSIFIED LOCATION, SHIELD HQ**

**10:51**

 

The room is very quiet while everyone is waiting for agent Coulson to speak. The said agent hasn’t said much since Sitwell found him in the alleyway, looking shocked. (Which was shocking; Coulson has rarely shown any emotions. There’s been rumors going around that he’s actually a robot) ~~_((spoiler for the future: clint doesn't help at all))_~~

 

The only words Coulson has said are “He got away” and nothing else. Sitwell and other agents had tried to get him to talk, but realized that the agent is only going to talk to Fury.

 

Director Fury had called them in his office right away when the two agents returned to the HQ.

 

“What happened, Phil?” Fury is concerned, he’s never seen his friend like this even though they’ve been working together for a long time.

 

Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, Coulson says: “We can’t kill him.”

 

Immediately Sitwell and Fury quickly glanced at each other.

 

“What? Kill who, the Hawkeye? Why?” Sitwell asks questions quickly,  _Why the hell they can't kill the assassin??_

 

Fury leans forward in his chair, “Phil, he has killed over 30 people, including our agents. He’s a cold blooded killer who-”

 

“He’s a child.”

 

The room falls quiet again.

 

The Hawkeye, who’s a ruthless killer, is a child? Although many might think that this information means nothing, to SHIELD it changes everything. 

 

“What?” Fury questions sternly, which makes Coulson sigh again and lean backwards on the chair behind the desk.

 

“He’s a child, Nick. Can’t be older than 17, which means we can’t kill him.”

 

Sitwell looks at the table, where lays all the information they have on the Hawkeye, trying to digest all this new information. If Coulson is correct - which is very likely, he’s never been wrong - they can’t kill him. If Hawkeye is under 18, aka a minor, they can't kill him. It's in the rules. ~~_/thank you Peggy/_~~

 

“So what do we do now?” asks Sitwell, “A minor or not, he’s dangerous. Someone will eventually catch him, either killing him or recruiting him.”

 

The thought has crossed Coulson’s mind, it would be troublesome if one of SHIELD’s enemy would recruit the Hawkeye. They know he hasn’t that many resources, so to think about all the things the assassin could be able to do with many resources? Scary things, man.

 

Fury rests his chin on his left hand and starts to think about their options.

 

Looking at the two agents, who have both risen to level 7, almost faster than anyone else in SHIELD’s history, he remembers how both of them were recruited..

 

_They both are very smart and can adjust to any situation at hand._

 

Fury smirks.

 

“We recruit him.”

 

Coulson and Sitwell turn their heads towards him, shocked, like suddenly he’s grown a second head.

 

“What?”

 

-

 

**1996, SEPTEMBER 3RD**

**CINCINNATI, USA**

**03:17**

 

Clint groans as he pulls his jeans down. He had taken the bus to Cincinnati after his encounter with the SHIELD agent. It had hurt like hell to run back to his hotel room in Portland and then walk around Cincinnati to find another secure hotel.

 

It took much more time to do all that since he was hurt.

 

The young assassin lies back in the bathtub, trying to examine the bullet wound. _Damned agent_ , he thinks as he takes a closer look at his leg.

 

It was through and through, so Clint doesn’t need to worry about getting the bullet out. “Well, at least he didn’t shoot me in the back or in the head”, he mumbles.

 

“Kinda makes sense, I’m worth way more alive than dead. Everyone wants to be the guy who catches the Oh-So-Great-Hawkeye.”

 

Clint takes the wet washcloth and presses the wound and starts swearing. He had quickly put bandages on his leg in Portland, but he knew that wasn’t enough.

 

He picks up the big roll of bandage on the floor and starts twirl it around the wound after he had taken care of the wound completely.

 

This is one of the (many) downsides being an assassin. Clint, like every fucking normal human being, hates getting shot at. And it especially sucks when one of those shots hits him.

 

Pulling himself up out of the bathtub, Clint uses his last strength to wobble to the bed and falls face first onto it.

 

_Time to sleep for a week._

 

-

 

**1996, SEPTEMBER 4TH**

**CLASSIFIED LOCATION, SHIELD HQ**

**14:49**

 

“Jesus, Phil. You weren’t joking when you said he was a child”, Sitwell says to his friend who’s standing next to him.

 

SHIELD had managed to catch a glimpse of the Hawkeye’s face, in a reflection on a window when he was running away from Coulson in Portland.

 

Coulson doesn’t say a word, a sour look on his face.

 

“... Why?” Coulson says under his breath.

 

“Why what?” Fury inquires and walks next to the agents.

 

Coulson turns to look at him, “Why does he kill people? He’s just a child, why is he doing this?”

 

Fury sighs and looks back at the big screen in front of them, he’s been pondering the same thing. Only organisations like KGB uses (and makes) child assassins, but Hawkeye is a freelance assassin, not connected to any organisation.

 

All of their thoughts are interrupted when one of their tech guy calls: “We have 75% match!”

(SHIELD had ran the blurry face of the assassin through their database, hoping to find out who the hell he is.)

 

Now, on the big screen is a picture of a small 7-year-old boy with sandy colored hair and light blue eyes. Under the boy’s face is a name: **BARTON, CLINTON FRANCIS. WEST CEDAR ELEMENTARY SCHOOL.**

 

“So this is the Hawkeye”, Sitwell stares in amazement.

 

“Yeah, when he was a young child."

 

Fury turns and walks to the door,

 

“Now let’s find him and bring him in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was going to add a picture of young clint barton but this was the first thing i saw when i googled it 
> 
> https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/5a/fb/12/5afb12840a1b4fa67af60ebe04e2360d.jpg 
> 
> if i had to see that so do you


	6. Screaming into a pillow doesn't help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also a reminder: Many of the characters might seem ooc from the movies/tv shows/comics, and that's because everyone has their own interpretation of the characters and this is mine. You could call this an AU, since I've changed the characters backstories (and personalities and age) a bit.
> 
> \+ added new tags!!!! and i'm not even joking this is my first draft i haven't proofread this either so let's see how this goes. also if there are any grammar mistakes then blame google docs' spelling check

**1997, JANUARY 5TH**

**VANCOUVER, CANADA**

**15:53**

 

Clint stares angrily at the ceiling, trying to blame everything on it. He’s laying on the hotel bed, arms crossed over his chest and nose crunched up, pouting.

 

He had been careful! He’s been careful since his father had thrown him across the living room when he was a baby. But now _the motherfucking SHIELD_ has his picture and they seem to know his every move.

 

All because that damn agent in the suit had shot him in Portland!!

 

Clint was running for his life then, not paying as much attention on being recorded as he usually did and apparently SHIELD has some kind of amazing advanced technology that can clear even the blurriest reflection picture. Damn them, damn that Howard Stark guy who is had helped SHIELD to get so good in their tech.

 

Clint huffs and starts to kick his feet against the mattress like a young child throwing a tantrum. Life is so unfair!

 

He’s been trying to avoid SHIELD with a pretty good success, considering he’s been able to do his job in peace (although he has been taking a lot fewer jobs than he used to). Clint had wished to be able to do his job here peacefully too, but no. SHIELD is in Vancouver, hoping to take him down.

 

Clint knew that he shouldn’t have had killed those agents back then, but he had no other choice.

 

“Fucking hell”, he mutters and turns onto his stomach.

 

_Maybe screaming into the pillow helps?_

 

“AARRRGGHH!!!!”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Nope.

  


*

 

10 minutes later, Clint sighs and sits up on the bed.

  


His plan was to come Vancouver couple days before his target got there to lay low and rest, but because SHIELD is on his tail, he can’t let his guard down and relax.

 

Deciding that it’s safe enough to go out and eat, he searches restaurants that are near him on his laptop.

 

After finding the right one, Clint puts on his coat and takes his skateboard with him as he closes the door.

 

That skateboard is one of the few valuables that Clint has. It’s not common for assassin’s to have anything that they value, few exceptions for weapons. (Like Clint’s bow and arrows)

 

He had a mission couple years ago in Central Ontario: following his target on foot, trying to get to know him, when they had entered into a shop full of all kinds of boards.

 

His target had bought a snowboard for his secretary (that he was sleeping with) for her birthday. Apparently they were planning to go to the Alps. Clint did a favor for his target’s wife, is you ask him.

 

But anyway, while the target was looking at the snowboards, the skateboard sections drew Clint’s attention. Which, you know, you can’t really blame him, he was a teenager. (Still is, but shhhh) As his eyes landed on the dark purple board, Clint knew right away that he wanted that. He even bought neon green and orange wheels for it.

 

It looks pretty rad.

 

Later on he added stickers on it.

  


Now he’s rolling down the narrow streets till he reaches the small and sheltered restaurant. And because he has manners, he hides the skateboard in his backpack and opens the restaurant door.

 

Clint chooses to sit in the back corner booth where he is able to see everything that happens in the restaurant. It makes him feel even a tiny bit safer.

 

He opens the menu to decide what to eat.

 

The constant problem in Clint’s life, which bugs him the most, is not knowing what to eat. There’s always so many choices, and growing up in a poor home and traveling in the carney, he never really had those “delicious” foods people who have money eat.

 

Clint still isn’t even sure what “delicious” food tastes like, because even though he know can choose what he eats, he still mostly eats just plain bread and pea soup out of habit.

 

Besides, is it really worth it to spend lot of money on food when you’re not sure if you’re going to live to see tomorrow?

 

Squinting at the menu, Clint bites his bottom lip.

 

“You should try Penne all’arrabbiata, I hear it’s delicious.”

 

Clint blinks and become still.

 

He knows that voice.

 

_Shit._

 

-

 

_“Turn around.”_

 

_Clint swallowed, calming himself. Every possible outcome went through his head, and he only made it out of life in a few of them._

 

_It felt like in a movie when the two important characters meet for the first time. Everything is in black and white and slowed down. The camera pans on the agent’s hands where he holds the gun, steady as the hands of a brain surgeon in the middle of a surgery. The background music has stopped; you can only hear the wind and the quiet city noises. Then the camera moves focuses on the assassin showing his determined face; ready to do whatever it takes to survive._

 

_Clint sighed and sagged his shoulders while he put his hands up, pretending to give up and accept his fate. Slowly he turned around, clinging onto the hope that this agent doesn’t want to kill him, since he hasn’t done it yet._

 

_The agent seemed to be taken aback by Clint, like he had expected the assassin to be a gritty old man with a metal arm and not a teenage boy._

 

_Immediately knowing this is his last chance, Clint lunged forward and kicked the agent in the stomach, forcibly pulled the gun from his hands. The gun scattered to the ground next to the trashcan where the agent followed it, hitting his head against the wall._

 

_As quickly as rabbit who noticed his predator, Clint ran away and disappeared into the city not daring to look back._

 

-

 

**1997, JANUARY 5TH**

**VANCOUVER, CANADA**

**16:32**

 

SHIELD agent Phil Coulson sits right across of Clint Barton, also known as the Hawkeye.

 

SHIELD’s been trying to keep up with him, following him everywhere, but never been able to have a chance to talk to him nor trying to stop him from killing people. _(Well they tried once, but for some reason [being a secret organisation] no one listened to them.)_ But once they got a glimpse of the assassin’s face on one of ATM camera’s in Vancouver, Coulson had flown here right away.

 

He had been monitoring the kid from an apartment across the hotel he was staying, and followed him to the restaurant. And just between us, but when he saw this Barton kid read the menu, he couldn’t help but smile. He was reading the menu with an earnest look on his face, as if he had only been eating bread and water for his entire life.

 

It was kind of adorable, which Coulson will never admit and will take it to his grave. Mostly because the kid is still an assassin and has killed over 30 people. (Also Sitwell would never let him live it down)

 

Coulson, now standing at the entrance of the restaurant, takes a deep breath and walks over to him. In the short time that it took him to walk across the restaurant, many thoughts filled his mind.

 

_How am I going to convince him to come to work for SHIELD? What are we going to do if he says no? What if he says yes?_

 

Coulson has read Barton’s file (which was very thin; both Barton kids had disappeared almost 9 years ago), so he knows he’s a tough case.

 

Now, sitting across from him, Coulson squints his eyes and studies the young assassin.

 

_He doesn’t show if he’s surprised, probably already thinking about escape routes. Hm, he would make a good agent, not even many level 5 agents can hide their surprise well._

 

But what captures his attention the most is Barton’s posture: he doesn’t seem to be panicking, as if he knows that whatever happens here, he would win.

 

After a minute of silence between the two, Barton sighs and puts the menu down, looking Coulson straight in the eye.

 

“You’re clearly not here to kill me, so what’s the deal?” Barton asks, clearly annoyed with his hand flailing in the air and then crossing them over his chest.

 

Coulson, clearly amused by this young rebel, answers with a calm voice “How do you know I’m not here to kill you?” and raises his eyebrow.

 

Barton squints his eyes, glaring back at him, “You followed me here since I left the hotel and you’re one of SHIELD’s paper pushers. If you’re here to kill me, you would’ve done that before I could leave the hotel.”

 

_He’s good. But I can’t let him win this one._

 

But Coulson just smirks, leaning forward and crossing his fingers in a prayer pose.

 

“Well, you’ve done your home, Mr. Barton”, which clearly angered the assassin, by the way he clenched his teeth together.

 

The waitress apparently had decided that that was the perfect time to bring those two a jug of water.

 

“Are you two ready to order?” she asks, voice overly sweet.

 

“Yes, he’ll be having Penne all’arrabbiata and I’ll just take Pasta bolognese, thank you”, Coulson smiles.

 

“Right, I’ll bring them to you soon!” she writes down their orders and leaves, clearly not sensing the thick air there.

 

“...Dnt… cl mstr…” Barton murmurs very quietly.

 

“What?”

 

“Don’t call me mister”, Barton sighs and slumps his shoulders, throwing his head to the side.

 

Coulson raises his eyebrow: he’s annoyed by that?

 

“Then what should I call you?” he asks with his most appealing voice can. He knows he has to play carefully, even though there’s not a big chance of this assassin killing him. Coulson can’t show any indications of lying, because while Barton hasn’t threatened to kill him, there’s no way of telling if he won’t do it later if Coulson shows any signs of lying.

 

The kid tilts his head to the left and squints at him, trying to figure out what to do with him.

 

“Clint. Call me Clint, _agent Coulson_ ”, Barton says sharply, emphasizing his name.

 

Coulson just smiled his friendly (?) smile, even though he’s nervous now. Wonder how much he actually knows about them..

 

_Maybe I should just confront him about it right away?_

 

Quickly casting his eyes to the table, deciding what to do next Coulson sighs and mentally prepares himself. Then he lifts his eyes to the young kid in front of him.

  


“Well, Clint. I’m here to offer you a job.”

 

-

 

**1997, JANUARY 5TH**

**VANCOUVER, CANADA**

**20:43**

 

As soon as Clint closes the hotel room door, he slides down with his back against the door. Turning his head up towards the ceiling, he sighs deeply and replays the events that just happened.

 

The agent had followed Clint here to not kill him, no. He offered Clint a job. As a secret agent. For SHIELD. Clint, the Hawkeye, the assassin, as a secret agent.

 

For once in his life Clint has been left speechless.

 

He’s still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that SHIELD doesn’t want him dead (apparently they have some kind of a code when it comes to juveniles), let alone about the job offer.

 

 _Should I take it?_ Clint wonders. It’s true that he has been thinking a lot about quitting killing people, but every time he’s done that something has happened that reminds him who he really is. A killer.

 

He bets that a lot people in SHIELD see themselves as heroes: fighting evil, protecting the people. But see, the thing is.. Clint is not a hero. He couldn’t be even if you tried making him one. So joining SHIELD is a no-go.

 

_But the agent’s face when we talked…_

 

Clint has to give it to the guy, he really looked like he believed that Clint would be a great agent. Like he believed that Clint’s life matters. But it was probably just a pretend.

 

“Aw, fuck”, Clint whines and puts his head in his hands. Bringing his knees closer to his chest, he rests his chin on top of them.

 

But he declined, laughing about how stupid they are. There’s no way they actually want to make him a good guy. He’s not a hero.

 

_But what if he was serious?... Well it doesn’t matter now anyway, I’m sure they’ve changed their mind since I said no.._

 

-

 

“I’m not giving up on him, Jas”, Coulson says flatly when he meets Sitwell in the SHIELD HQ.

 

“I don’t know, Phil. SHIELD can’t just make an exception, and he declined. We’re probably gonna have to forcibly bring him in or…”

 

“There’s no second option. We’re bringing him in”, Coulson says, his voice full of determination, looking forward.

 

Sitwell squints his eyes and glances at his friend, knowing that when he is determined to do something nothing can stop him.

 

Stopping at the hallway and sighing to himself, Sitwell wonders what goes on Coulson’s head.

 

“You better be sure about this Cheese... “

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't know when ch7 is going to be published, school+moving takes a lot of my time... so maybe you have to wait another month? who knows


	7. Lure the bird in with seeds next time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sunny San Francisco isn't for everyone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to publish this one! Life got in the way and then I forgot this even existed for a while :P But now I'm back! This is a short one, but the next chapter will be longer.
> 
> Yet again, I haven't had this beta-read so if there are any confusing parts please let me know!

**1997, August 21st**

**SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA, USA**

**10:13**

 

The streets are full of people. Their chatter reaches almost every street there is. The sun is warming everyone and with the gentle wind breeze, it makes the day very lovely. Everyone is enjoying themselves. Well, everyone except one young man.

 

Clint adjusts his black sunglasses and leans forward, resting his hands on his legs. He’s used to warm weather so he has no trouble wearing a green windbreaker jacket, black t-shirt and long pants. He has let is hair grow (being too busy to get it properly cut because, you know,  _ fucking SHIELD _ ) and has tied it to a small ponytail. 

 

On the outside he looks like everything is fine, on the inside he is boiling with frustration. 

 

_ Are you, whatever God there is and can hear my thoughts, fucking kidding me?! _ Clenching his fists and teeth, all he can really do is take a deep breath and wait. Wait till they, more importantly  _ him _ , approach him. 

 

_ God… Why am I even allowing this to happen? I’m a scary assassin! I should just kill him when he gets close enough. I can get away _ , he broods, tapping his index fingers against one another. He’s even getting annoyed with himself!

 

Honestly, he’s a super good at killing people. So killing some super duper secret special agent isn’t  _ that _ hard, even when there would be some other agents near them for backup. He could take them. But no. Clint sighs in defeat. He won’t kill him. Harm? Yes. Kill? No. The agent hasn’t given him a good reason to kill him. 

 

When Clint started this whole killing thing, he promised to himself that he’d only kill people he deemed to be bad people. And while this secret agency is a threat to  _ him _ , they don’t seem to be corrupted like FBI or CIA who are kind of a threat to everyone. 

 

_ “Oh, Cinny… You really do have a way too soft heart for this kind of job.” _ Clint still remembers when she told him that. It always comes back when he’s having these kind of internal struggle with himself. 

 

He forces it away quickly. 

 

“Planning on going to the beach? It’s a perfect day for that.”

 

_ Ah, he has arrived _ . 

 

Clint snorts at that, not even bothering to change his position. His pride stops it, because if he would react to that immediately, it would mean that the agent would have the upper hand. And Clint always intends to come out on top. 

 

It’s kind of funny though, if you really think about it. Here they are: a very dangerous assassin and a super secret agent form a super secret organisation, sitting side by side on a water fountain’s edge. 

 

“It is a beautiful day, but your existence ruins it”, he scoffs back without missing a beat. It’s obvious that his answer doesn’t move the agent at all, not even a small smirk or anything. His composure is on point,  _ as always _ . Which, Clint  _ does _ have to give him credit for. He knows many tough guys who wouldn’t even dare to speak to him, let alone sit next to him. But this guy - Special Agent Phil Coulson - is different. 

 

“Have you considered my proposal?” Coulson queries him. Immediately Clint’s blood starts to boil. He can  _ hear _ the smugness in his voice. Whether it’s from being able to be so composed around him or that Clint even let’s him be alive, he doesn’t know. Either way, Clint is having none of it.

 

“For an agent from a covert organization, you’re really stupid, you know?” He snarks back, finally turning to look at him. He is sure Coulson can see that he’s annoyed. 

 

_ A+ comeback Clint, bravo. _ He tells himself. 

 

“Stupid? Now you’ve hurt my feelings,  _ Clint _ .” The bastard is smiling a little, pretending to be hurt. 

 

_ Who. The. Fuck. Does. He. Think. He. Is?!  _

 

But, Clint can’t really blame him. After the whole thing back in Vancouver, they’ve met couple of times,  _ and _ Clint did tell him not to call him “Mr. Barton”. So Coulson does have, kind of, the right to call him Clint. 

 

Clint crosses his arm as he leans back now, muttering “bullshit” under his breath. He is sure Coulson heard it. He is trying his best to calm down, but it just isn’t working. Not when Coulson is here. 

 

Speaking of, Coulson is quiet. He’s only raising his eyebrow at him, but other than that he’s completely calm. But he shouldn’t be! He is sitting next to  _ the  _ Hawkeye! The notorious assassin! 

 

It pisses Clint off even more.

 

“I don’t get it. I’ve told you “no” many times, but you still won’t give up. You always find me, offering me a job. I’m an assassin, you know? I’m your enemy. Yet you still haven’t killed me.” He starts to go off. He know he shouldn’t, but he can’t help it. “So what gives, huh? My age? Or do you actually have some kind of a plan to make me think that you actually want the best for me but then end up betraying me and put me in some kind of a torture chamber where you’ll kill me in some slow horrible manner?”

 

He is losing his patience, with Coulson and with himself. 

 

What is with these people? He knows enough about SHIELD. He knows Coulson isn’t the boss, but he does have a high position. THere’s no way he’s acting on his own accords. There are so many questions Clint has for this guy and for SHIELD, but knows that he won’t get an answer. 

 

Coulson is still so goddamn calm. He’s just staring at Clint, who had stood up while ranting. Clint is both impressed but annoyed. He’s always annoyed. And it’s not because he’s a teen!

 

“I feel like I’m the confused one here”, Coulson finally sighs. “We’ve offered you a better job, a better life. But you still say no. Why is that? We figured out that you don’t kill just for fun, and your looks tell me you don’t care about the money as well.”  _ Okay, wow.  _

 

“Are you protecting someone by being an assassin? Or is there someone who is making you do these things?”

 

Wait, what? Okay, that makes no sense. First of all, Clint doesn’t have anyone in his life anymore. They’ve all either dead or betrayed him. Second, as  _ if _ Clint would let someone control him. 

 

He scoffs at that, shaking his head. “You know what? Either kill me or leave me be.” And with that, he starts walking away. 

 

_ God! Can you believe that guy? As if there’s someone I care about _ . 

 

**

 

Slamming the hotel room door shut, Clint throws his jacket on the bed. He is furious, he is angry, he is…. So mad. If he were a cartoon character, there would be steam coming out of his ears right now. 

 

Pacing in the room, he tries to calm down. He needs to calm down, because even though he knows SHIELD didn’t follow him here, he can’t be distracted. There’s always someone that wants him dead. He’s even so frustrated that he yanks his hearing aids out and throws them away. 

 

Every time he and Coulson have this same conversation  _ \- which, by the way, has happened way too many times -  _ it always brings up Clint’s real feelings about… everything. 

 

Yeah, he’s a teenager and probably shouldn’t be doing the things he does but what else could he do? He’s learned to live with it. He’s done things that he shouldn’t be proud of, but he’s alive because of them. He doesn’t think he should be ashamed because of them. There are people who have done worse things than him. He’s killed many of them. 

 

So yeah, it would make sense in that way to say “yes” to Coulson. But he can’t. He’s not a team player. He doesn’t deserve to be forgiven or a “better life”. He doesn’t want to become just a tool for SHIELD to use to wipe out every threat to them. 

 

He’s gotten over those things. He doesn’t want to go back. 

 

***

 

**1997, August 21st**

**SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA, USA**

**12:02**

 

“Got turned down again?” Aviles asks when Coulson opens the hotel door. Her voice is flat, full knowing the answer. 

 

“Yeah”, Coulson can only sigh. He throws the file on the table, near Avile’s feet. He sounds a bit defeated, but Aviles knows Coulson well. He won’t give up. 

 

“I do wonder, Phil… Is he really worth it?” She questions, leaning back on her chair, throwing her hands behind her head. They’ve been after the Hawkeye for months now. 

 

Without missing a beat, Coulson quickly says “Yes.” He’s sure of it. “Fury himself said to bring him in. It just takes time. He’s a good kid on the inside, he just got mixed up with the wrong side.”

 

Aviles ponders that for a minute. She does agree with Phil and Fury; she’s seen the files. Hawkeye might be a notorious assassin, but he is just a kid. Not that Sarita can say anything about that, she’s only a bit over 20 herself and many consider  _ her _ as a kid. She doesn’t blame them though.

 

But how long are they going to do this? Sure, they’ve restricted Hawkeye from killing many people, but he does vanish from their radar time to time. And they only get a clue where he is when they hear that he’s killed someone. So, they  _ technically _ are letting a serial killer kill people. There’s a good conversation to have with the government. 

 

“Okay”, she finally says and sits up straight. “I’ll let Signe know back at HQ.”

 

Whipping out her phone, she sends the text.

 

To: Penguin

 

>phil’s pet said no :( 

>i think it pooped on him bc hes disappointed

 

From: Penguin

 

>nooo :((

>next time we’ll lure it in with seeds

 

“You wound me”, Coulson says mockingly when he reads Signe’s and Sarita’s convo over her shoulder. 

 

Sarita just laughs, happy that Coulson’s mood has improved even just a little. Everyone who’s on this case and know Coulson pretty well are able to see that he has gotten very invested in this kid, but no one dares to say anything about that. They just hope Coulson knows when to quit. 

 

Turning around on the chair, Sarita decides it’s time to pack their stuff up and head home. Maybe next time there’s three of them coming back instead of two. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> so, uh, how many present tense and past tense mistakes were there? :DD also the mistakes on trying to write clint as a non binary since they don't know if the hawkeye is a he or a she?
> 
> remember: constructive criticism is always welcomed!!
> 
> i'll try to post the second chapter this week? i've already written like 5 chapters for this, but i need to edit them and stuff and if you're a writer you know how awful it is to read your writings :D


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